


In Service

by twoshotrobot



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Priests, Blow Jobs, M/M, Temptation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-13
Updated: 2020-11-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:55:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27535630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twoshotrobot/pseuds/twoshotrobot
Summary: Seonghwa runs a small church in the desert.
Relationships: Choi San/Park Seonghwa
Comments: 16
Kudos: 91





	In Service

There was little daytime activity in those hours, the sun as much weapon as it was provider. Still, Seonghwa kept the door open for passer-bys should the need have arisen. From his pulpit, he overlooked an open field of beige-red sand and sparse shrubbery keening toward the sky as noontime’s sole display of bravery among the living.

The setup was a small one, four rows of pews on either side for a total of eight. His pulpit was donated after the larger neighboring city renovated one of their churches. It looked out of place, both overly large and made with a degree of polish that didn’t agree with the all-wood construction of the tiny building.

Summer’s heat had him soaked beneath the collar of his wool suit, spurring an incessant tugging on the neck of his undershirt. Dampened fabric wet the tips of his fingers. It rubbed off on the pages of the Good Book, smudging the final words as he turned them.

He looked up when his periphery caught novel movement among the glut of nothing. A man ambled toward his church, and even in the distance he could see him shield his eyes from the sun with a hand as an awning over his brow. As he came closer, there was no doubt, he saw the young man was weatherworn. He stumbled in and braced himself on the doorframe, red-faced and drenched in sweat. On the cusp of heat exhaustion given the way he doubled over and leaned on the back of the closest pew.

Seonghwa fetched a pitcher of water, lukewarm in the stifling air. He poured it into a glass for his guest, a stranger to him, but welcomed nonetheless to liven the space. He guided him with a hand on his back, inviting him to sit on one of the pews.

The man drank in large, thirsty gulps and smacked his lips, breathing out a, "Thank you."

"Would you like more?"

"Please." He raised his glass. After refilling, the drinking became steadier. 

"Dangerous time of day to go for a walk, don't you think?"

The man smiled behind the glass, enlarged and distorted by refraction. "Believe me, no choice of mine." He set the cup down and shrugged off his suit jacket. The white shirt beneath was near translucent, clinging to the dips and rises of his chest.

"I don't believe we've met." Even in returning the pitcher to a small end table by the pulpit, he was barely more than an arm span away from his guest.

"I'm not from here. My automobile stopped right outside of town and this was the first building in sight” A slow sip, more like a loud sucking of water as he barely tipped the glass into his mouth. For the moment before the air dried them, his lips were glossy. It caught Seonghwa's focus. "It was either walk or bake alive.”

He resumed his perch. "Thank the Lord for leading you here.”

He raised his glass. "And what's your name, Reverend?"

"Seonghwa. I'm a pastor. And yours?”

"San." When San drank again, Seonghwa followed the arm to the glass. The water poured back at too steep an angle, dribbling out of the glass and onto his chin, down his jaw and neck. The thin stream disappeared behind the collar of his shirt. He wiped his mouth, prompting Seonghwa’s eyes up again. “I’ll be happy to sit for a reading while I’m here.”

His place, marked by the page having been slightly warped, had been in the fifth chapter of Galatians. On that page, he lowered his eyes to his sole listener. "You, my brother, were called to be free. But do not use your freedom to indulge the flesh." As he read, he worked slowly, making small and subtle changes to speak to San. "Rather, serve humbly in love."

As he made his progress through the text, San's posture shifted and changed, ultimately to an abrupt movement to his right, sliding and leaving space beside him to which he indicated by the tapping of his fingers on the backrest. In a lull between lines, he cleared his throat and earned Seonghwa’s attention. "There are only two of us. Sit by me."

He felt warmed by the invitation and its friendliness. That close, he could smell the man and his sweat, raw and wild. San looked at him as he read, and Seonghwa returned it from his periphery. The way San looked at him, it made him feel how he felt seeing a breeze pick up the skirts of the women in town, showing off the easy sway of thin slips, slightly translucent.

Seonghwa's life had been fraught with temptation, though none like this, urging his fingers to stray from the pages just to feel the slick of another's sweat on their skin, wondering if it had cooled to the touch in the relative refuge of the church. He smelled like man, yet nothing of it was overwhelming nor unappealing. It churned his stomach with a pang that he'd have called hunger.

He looked up mid-verse to meet the gaze, a small upturn of lips that caused Seonghwa’s breath to catch. San took over, leaning in and reading where Seonghwa left off, pressing his body closer yet to him.

Seonghwa found himself unable to look away, and San smiled some. "A pastor with a wandering eye."

No words came forth, though his mouth gaped all the same. San grabbed Seonghwa's wrist, guiding the tips of his fingers to his collarbone. "Do your hands wish to wander that path?"

As he'd imagined, the sweat cooled some. His fingers slid easily across the partly exposed chest, lightly pressing the pads of his fingers to one of San's breasts.

"Shall I undo a button, Pastor?"

His head fell in its nod, exaggerated, though that was not his intent. San undid one of the buttons and it exposed more to explore, fingers brushing over a hard nipple.

San undid another button, baring his chest. Only one more, revealing the stomach. His shoulders pulled back for the shirt to slide off slowly. Some instinct spurred him to lean down, latch his mouth on the nipple. He sucked lightly when he noticed San was sensitive to it, making a sound like a hum from far back in his throat.

San stripped to his undergarments and spread his legs. Seonghwa buried his face in the groin, feeling this near-stranger’s manhood hard and pulsing against his cheek.

He'd never done this. He had no clue what brought out the urge. The rationale was lost to him, leaving behind the sole goal of pulling back the garment. The tie at the waist was loose, a light tug enough to undo it as if it'd been meant for Seonghwa to unwrap him. San raised his hips for the rest to be pulled off.

He looked up at San, mostly nude and completely erect, whose patient eyes accompanied a small, suggestive smile. Somehow, this informed the progression and Seonghwa knew what to do. The slow opening of his mouth to settle on the head, salty and heady, filled his mind with aimless and enthusiastic encouragement. Especially when San hummed out again, slower, lower, sweeter, with fingers brushing through his hair and nails lightly grazing his scalp.

For a time, he'd forgotten he was in his very own church. He'd forgotten the heat, as warm as San felt in his mouth and as strenuous as he kept the bob of his head. His entire focus, single-minded, on serving. He felt the looks that called on his eyes to return the gaze, and San's smiles and his sounds heightened this goal.

He swallowed the semen down, uncomfortable as the heat irritated his tired throat, but he swallowed around and it prompted choppy breaths that sounded like quiet laughter. He looked up to see his company was, in fact, laughing. The mischief was far more present in his eyes than even in his initial advances.

Like a phonograph, the passage he’d read had played in mind, like the hand of God guiding him to this terrifying understanding. Chest heavy, overwhelmed, his throat seized in his shame. In his fear, his eyes grew wet.

San gently wiped them with his knuckle as they came. His laughter was soft, but derisive. "It's not fire and brimstone, Pastor. I will treat you well."

He prayed aloud in a whisper, louder as San spoke. He rocked in place, head ducked upfront toward the cross.

San pushed back his hair, rubbing above the brows with a slow swipe of his thumb. He shut both of Seonghwa's eyes gently. "You will forget. You will return to your normal life. When your time comes, your soul is mine." The hand fell, cupping his cheek and keeping him still as he kissed his brow.

Seonghwa awoke. He sat up, neck and back aching from napping in a pew. His eyes swept the empty church, seeking the pitcher of water after waking with a strange taste in his mouth. From his pulpit, he overlooked an open field of beige-red sand and sparse shrubbery keening toward the sky as noontime’s sole display of bravery among the living.


End file.
